SFH3 Run #1901: Twas the night before midterms
|:||Kern & Brompton|
|:||Do Her Well|
“I vote we got to the left!” Tonya Hardon shouted, arriving at the check.
“Yeah, me too!” Pepe Le Poop chimed in. “We’ve been going to the right for way too long, we’ve got to start veering back. Please.” Circle Jerk just shook his head sadly, giving him no answer.
“You guys realize that it’s a dead end alleyway and there is a man sleeping back there,” Wee Wee rationalized. “I don’t think we’re going that far to the left.”
“But we can’t just give up like that,” insisted Bloqueen. “If we looked at the recent reports, if we studied all the odds, it would tell us that it was all useless. Our quest for beer that is. We’re stuck in an endless cycle of rising temperatures… of beer.”
“I know we’re going to go left, I can feel it in my bones.” Bierectional insisted. Fix Her Up Her held her tongue. Luckily, Chicken Bone Her was there with an ironic snort for her.
Somewhere far in the distance Millimeter Peter was calling out the way the pack should go, but no one could figure out where he was calling from.
“It all went wrong at that check two years—I mean, blocks ago,” Five Angry Inches told them. “I thought we were going left, Big Cock Chains thought we were going left, even Fuck Buddy thought we were going left and she’s in charge of this damn thing. Yet here we are, somehow mysteriously finding ourselves to the right despite logic telling us it should have gone the other way around. And we’re stuck up here with no solution in sight.”
“Maybe if you guys actually showed up and marked the fucking check,” Cum Test Dummy began.
“I didn’t have any chalk,” Dick Ass Mother Fucker proclaimed.
“I didn’t know which way to mark the check… have you seen how long it takes to solve them? There’s so many options!” Dickweed chimed in.
“You guys don’t like how I mark my checks anyway,” Eat My Pussy added.
“My virgins haven’t hashed long enough to mark checks,” Cockulus Oculus insisted.
“Are we still talking about hashing?” asked Udder Moron.
“But don’t worry, I have chalk now,” Dick Ass Mother Fucker added.
“What, you found some in the last two blocks?” Masterbaster asked.
“You know, it’s pretty easy around here to find chalk,” Cosmopolitits replied. “You are automatically given chalk when you go to the DMV, there are volunteers with chalk at a lot of major events, and you can go online to request chalk for free and do it all by mail. Don’t get me wrong, it should be even easier, but there are lots of states that make you jump through hoops to get chalk.”
“I marked this check two weeks ago in the comfort of my own home!” Dick First Ass Up put in. “This way!”
The pack ran up and down, right and (yes, finally) left too, until they came to the beer check. Backside Banger nodded at them proudly. “I see you made it. My little one is gonna make his first pack arrows tomorrow, just like you guys!”
Hand Pump officiated over the keg, while Muff Daddy made sure all registrations were in order as he poled the harriettes. Some confusion was had over Bush and A Rack’s date of birth, but The Good Shit Lollicock straightened it out in the end. The pack determined while California Creamin’ and Whore’s Whisperer would have to watch the night’s returns, Ska Skank’s old SFH3 registration was still valid.
At the end of the night, the result was clear. Slug and Peekaboobie were both brought to tears as Tuna on Top led Hand Pump to the microphone for an acceptance speech. Because no matter who is leading the country, the hash will always vote Hand Pump for president.